What the Night Brings
by Nine Larks
Summary: Ten minutes until midnight. Merry knew he'd be late.


It was an hour until midnight and the ball was in full swing

It was an hour until midnight and the ball was in full swing. Ladies adorned in luscious silk gathered in half-moon circles to whisper behind ivory fans and to point out prospective men with tinkling giggles. Couples waltzed across the dance floor; each step was executed as easily as breathing for every noble must have had dance lessons since childhood. But beneath the thin veneer of pleasantry and gracious manners, a game of deceit is played.

Think not of peaceful atmospheres and open delight, nor of the camaraderie found in the smiles traded easily between friends. No, this is a game of deceit, where invisible smiles confirm schemes and whispered words can shatter the reputation of a virtuous lady, or even a count. Even in the midst of a ball, watch carefully around for the one that most smile for, notice if the wife of the general of the King's Army lingers her hand a fraction longer than courtesy dictates on the arm of another man, listen closely to the undercurrents sweeping underneath each word, all weighed and measured before leaving painted lips. Stay wary of the hard drinks, for drinking spirits dulls the mind. Even though this is a gathering to relieve the boredom of nobles, remember it is a gathering of _nobles_. Pay attention and above all, be careful – for even a ball is a deadly game.

But for one young man, the son of a minor Baron, more innocent thoughts enraptured his thoughts. There was no time to cultivate powerful acquaintances or waltz the careful dance of flattery in order to climb the ranks.

Instead, he had tucked himself in a near desolate place to gaze upon her with worshipful eyes. Lines of poetry were silently arranging their places in his head on account of her sparkling blue eyes, her lustrous golden hair, her slender neck, her pale skin as clear as the full moon, her delicate hands, and-

He shook his head violently, trying to keep some semblance of composure in this place where every weakness was uncovered and promptly exploited. The little noble took two deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Yes, that's the way to go. He stood straight up and attempted to gather all his courage around him. He would go to her, his cloak of courage swirling around him, and proclaim his undying love for her. Yes, he could do it!

He slumped against the cold stone wall. Ah, it was no use. Even the thought of approaching her was more terrifying than the whispers about the newest count's hobby. Count Cain, he believed, was the name of the newest count. Attached to the count's name was "poison". Just thinking about it gave the boy shivers.

Enough wool-gathering, he scolded himself. If he waited too long to go to his angel of love, someone else might approach her!

Every step required his full-minded concentration, feeling as if each foot weighed two wagons full of cobblestones. He made his way closer to where she sat. Closer and closer he walked towards her.

Twenty steps left.

Fifteen steps left.

Ten.

Fiv-

Oof! The boy fell heavily against the hard stones on the floor. He scrambled up clumsily, trying to figure out where each limb was meant to go, feeling more than embarrassed. His humiliation stained his cheeks a harsh crimson, visible in the moonlight as he turned his head towards the vision sitting in the window seat to see if she saw his disgraceful fall.

But what he saw instead was a laughing aristocratic face. Even the tilt of this noble's face was haughty. The poor little noble boy froze under this blue-eyed gaze, unable to move from his awkward position of nearly standing. The noble leant down and whispered amusedly," Leave, little boy."

The boy, too eager to obey those very words, lost no time in picking his arms and legs up to flee to the nearest safety area, wherever that may be. The man with ice-blue eyes smirked

His confidence was near palpable as he strode towards the girl in the window seat. He slid easily into the seat next to her, smiling down at her face.

"Hey there, little lady."

The girl turned to look up him, eyes slightly curious. "Yes?"

Merryweather, for that was the girl's name, examined the man in front of her. Ice-blue eyes and an aristocratic face. Yes, he was quite handsome. But experience taught her caution.

The man smiled easily. "Might I have the pleasure of knowing your lovely name?"

Her wide blue eyes widened in mock innocence as she responded. "It is surely polite to give your own name first, is it not?"

He assured her it was and gave her his most deeply felt apologizes. "My name is whatever pleases you," he told her with a flourish of one glove-clad hand.

A slightly ironic smile curved her lips as she wondered aloud if she should just call him Sir Pot-belly.

The man laughed, his chuckles a light musical tenor. "Surely, dear lady, I would have my name be anything you wish as long as you would utter them with your perfect lips. But now that I have given you free reign over my name, will you not tell me the fair lady's name?"

There was a slight pause before she told him," You needn't call me anything at all."

He gallantly gave a half-bow as best as one can sitting down and took her hand to kiss it. "That is a beautiful name, Lady Mystery."

Although she snatched her hand back a little too fast for his liking, he forged ahead bravely. "I notice you have been sitting here for quite a while. A lady so beautiful such as you should never lack in companions…"

He watched Merryweather give a light shrug that drew his eyes down from the silk shoulders to the lacy front of her dress. "I'm waiting," she said.

The silence lingering after her words was awkward and the man hurried to fill the air with something more comfortable.

"Just the sight of you makes my eyes sparkle with gladne-"

Merry put out a hand, tacitly telling him to stop waxing poetry, and told him dryly," I think you've a little too much to drink, sir. Excuse me"

As she moved to get up, he hastily put out a placating hand and moved back. She relaxed and sat back down. When the man was sure she wasn't leaving, he tossed a small grin and told her," That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold."

Upon hearing that, she smiled a little but then shook her head. "Shakespeare? I wasn't aware that drunkards could quote Shakespeare."

"Ah, but I am a special drunk, my dear."

Merry had a couple of choice words that gave voice to her views on "special drunks". The man's brows lifted as he laughed again. "Is that so lady-like?"

Her shrug drew his eyes downwards again. "I am who I wish to be," she told him evenly.

He leaned in a little closer to her and said," Ah, I love a lady with spirit. However, you've been waiting a little too long, don't you think? I'm willing to give you company…"

He closed the distance between them a little more and said huskily,"… for the night."

Merry jerked back quickly. However, he grabbed her arm even quicke-

Oof! The man was collapsed on the ground, legs tangled around the chair he had been sitting on. The arm he had tried to grab Merry with was conspicuously in the grasp of a black figure.

The man jerked out of the hold and hoisted himself up. As he brushed himself off, trying to regain his dignity, he attempted to size-up the newcomer.

The black shadow swept his hat off with a liquid smoothness and smiled at the man. It was more like a baring of teeth than a smile, the man thought, more than slightly unnerved. But it was when the man met the black-clad figure's eyes that he felt shivers run down his spine. The golden gaze made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and warned him in interest of self-preservation that he'd best make his leave. But how can a man drop his pride at the feet of an opponent? Especially if this man is drunk on bravery. No way.

So the man straightened himself and braced himself to meet the piercing gaze. Now that he looked a little closer, it seemed green and it felt as if those eyes could see into his soul, look at every lacking aspect of his self, see his true half-commoner heritage, read into the perverse deeds he had done-

But never mind those details! He swallowed, almost audibly, and made a short ironic bow. "A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Sir…?"

The devil-in-disguise gave him an even smaller bow back, closer to a nod of acknowledgment than a bow, and corrected him easily. "Count. Count Cain."

As the man attempted to wrap his mind around this new information, Merry hopped neatly off the window seat and attached herself to Cain's arm. He smiled down at her, eyes softening. She pouted up at him. "Big brother, you're late."

Big brother?! The man's heart leaped into his throat. What had he gotten himself into? The man watched as the count disentangled himself from the girl only to lean down to placate the girl, whispering something into her ear.

The count rose to his feet and smiled –oh dear heavens, it was like a devil smirking, the man thought- at the man. He then drawled," Now what would you want from my sister?"

The man stuttered, not even sure of what he was going to say. The count drew nearer to the man and hissed in his ear," If you dare hurt her, I will hunt you down and kill you in ways you can never imagine. Believe it."

Cain drew away, black cloak fluttering with his motions, feeling a little better after threatening a person. With his threat said, Cain glanced behind him. The man whipped his eyes into the shadows where another man waited. Was it a demon? For certainly Count Cain was the devil and even demons bow to the devil.

Death, it was rumored, surrounded this newest count. Count Cain left murders and cooling bodies behind every step. Not only that, the man moaned to himself, but this particular count dabbled in poison. Poisons that control the mind. Poisons for excruciating pain. Poisons that sent a person into ever-lasting sleep. Death poisons. He had them all.

So the man swung his gaze to where the devil –surely he was the devil, for what man had eyes that could see into souls?– was looking. It looked like… a man dressed as a butler?

"Come Riff. Take this man away for… questioning."

Cain let his gaze linger on the almost-trembling man for a few seconds longer and let his grin widen a touch. Riff bowed and took the man by the wrist, his grip hard enough to bruise. The glint in Riff's eyes reminded the man of the Count's. Threats of pain were promised in those eyes.

Merryweather watched Riff drag that man off for a few seconds, perfectly content next to her big brother. She smiled up her dearest brother. She laughed a bit and cocked her head, a bit like a puzzled bird. "You do like to scare them, don't you?"

Cain pasted an entirely too-innocent smile on his face. "You must be imagining it," he replied smoothly.

She turned her face away haughtily, chin up. "That might be so, big brother, but no matter what you say, you're still late!"

Cain swept her up in his arms and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "My humblest apologies, my lady."

She pouted. "You were with another lady weren't you? You smell of perfume."

Merry made a big show of sniffing. She said a bit mournfully," You told me you'd find me. You didn't even tell me where you went! So I waited and waited and waited and wait-"

Cain covered her mouth with a gloved hand. "When we get home, Riff will make us tea and scones. How does that sound?"

Merry responded with silence, unwilling to retreat but sorely tempted by the scones. After walking a bit more in a comfortable silence, Riff reappeared behind Cain's shoulder.

Merry sighed contently. What more could she want? An overprotective butler and an even more overprotective brother and the promise of tea and scones. That was more than enough for her.

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